Her Laugh
by FlyingHorses
Summary: Portalkink fill from LJ. Prompt: "She had a beautiful laugh, even if it was silent," Chell/Wheatley.


Portalkink fill from LJ. Prompt: "She had a beautiful laugh, even if it was silent," Chell/Wheatley.

She had a beautiful laugh, even if it was silent.

It was the way it bubbled up from the depths of her, her whole body getting in on this strange commotion of glee as if to compensate for the fact that she had no voice. It was quite lovely, really, as it began with a flush on her cheeks and lips as the latter parted slightly with a smile. Her belly then tensed and shook slightly before the vibrations advanced to her chest and shoulders. Those parts of her jumped sporadically as the laugh came up into her face.

Her eyes clamped shut and her smile broke open wide as she hunched over and put her hands on her knees, her whole body quaking. And her laugh wasn't, perhaps, entirely silent, as it was punctuated with the sounds that air is wont to make as it is expelled from lungs and between teeth. These too were part of her laugh, as it ended and she stood back up, at least. She would wipe her eyes and smile again, her face now more flush with blood and good humor.

It was lovely, to be sure, and something he was still quite unused to and something he could never quite provoke in a manner that suited him and his dignity. Clever witticisms and sharp remarks were all for naught, for they drew, at best, withering glances and, at worst, her ire. It was his inadvertent actions that seemed to amuse her the most; at first, it had been when he was new to this body and he tripped over his new and, quite frankly, ridiculously large feet straight into a wall with an altogether unpleasant crunch or that one time he wet himself because...well, he couldn't ever remember having a bladder or knowing how they functioned. This is when she laughed. At his expense. She laughed at him now for less slapstick reasons, but it was never mutual.

But her laugh was still beautiful, even if it came at this cost. That isn't to say, however, that he was entirely comfortable with the way this situation was about to go.

Wheatley, perhaps due to being a glorified computer program for a vast part of his life, was none too fond of heat. It made him think of overworked processors and on-coming disaster. He preferred the cold, finding it efficient and comforting even if it did make his overly large feet go bloodless. In the cold, you could layer up and the water that fell from the sky wasn't necessarily wet unless you were silly enough to make it so. Hot days, on the other hand, just made him feel...puddley. No, that wasn't a word (he'd learned that now that he really was capable of learning), no, it made him feel...buttery and like he was melting. Melting straight into the bed he, clad only in his underpants, was laying upon with a fan turned on him to combat the unpleasant stickiness and smelliness that was sweating.

Quite frankly, he hated everything when it was hot. He hated his job, he hated how small children were still out-pacing him when it came to reading, he hated hair and the way it constantly grew, he hated any activity that had to take place in a bathroom because it meant pulling clothes back onto damp skin and they never wanted to back on properly without a fight and he hated how not even tea could provide succor in the heat because cold tea was atrocious and sat in his belly like a lead weight. He hated how she laughed at his attempts to stay at a reasonable temperature.

And he absolutely hated how she hoarded the air conditioner all to herself.

Part of him admitted that this was the way of things and that it was fair, all things and attempted murder considered, that she should have better things than him. After all, she still payed most of their bills and had slowly taught him how to be a somewhat functional member of society, to say nothing of teaching him how to be a somewhat functional human being. Another part of him, a more self-absorbed voice, railed against the idea of being left to dissolve into the mattress with not so much as a sufficient breeze to comfort him while she lived in arctic bliss. Something had to be done.

But while he had been thinking these thoughts, he had failed to notice Chell standing in the doorway with what that self absorbed part of him liked to refer as "a cruel spark in her eyes." Wheatley started when he noticed her, and being very close to the edge of his small bed in order to get the full effect of the fan, he fell. As he peeled his skin away from the cracked flooring, he saw her marvelous laugh begin. She did not stay and give him the full performance, though, instead taking her show with her to her glacial fortress. Grabbing his glasses from where they skittered to beneath the nightstand, Wheatley pulled himself up and assaulted her door.

It gave way, rewarding him with a breath of sharp, cool air. Chell dropped her book quickly and thrust her finger at him and then the hallway.

"No," he said tartly, closing the door behind him. "It's ninety seven_ bleeding_ degrees out and you're going to have to share."

She seemed taken aback by this statement and Wheatley was rather proud of his delivery, replete with good posture and crossed arms. Chell considered him briefly and then pointed to the corner of the room. He sat onthe end of the bed instead and glared petulantly at her. She gave up and went back to her book.

He awoke later (sometime around dinner, if his stomach was to be believed) and on the floor instead of the bed. Sitting up in a groggy state, he slipped his hands under the covers, hoping to steal under then and resume his nap, but instead he ran afoul of her foot, which reminded him he was no longer in his own room. Said foot was jerked away from his hand and the covers shuddered.

Wheatley found his ire raised again at the idea that she was so repulsed by his touch, accidental, as it were, when she could have been rid of him from the very start. He knew what shelters were now and had wondered why she hadn't simply dumped him at one. He yanked the blanket away from her body and found her smiling, with something in her expression that was both amused and fearful. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed for her foot again, only to have her yank it away and start to laugh - nervously. He leaned forward onto the bed and captured both her ankles. He ran his thumbs along the soles of her feet and she exploded with laughter, fighting his touch and thrashing about wildly in the process.

As a knee strayed too close to his face, Wheatley grabbed this as well and it evoked a similar response. Her whole body was flush with laughter as she tried to escape him. At her frantic struggles, he felt the first chuckle well up from his middle. Chell grabbed his side and pinched, eliciting more of this deeply rooted noise from him. He felt it in his stomach and shoulders and how it shook his whole body. He pinched her back in the same place and she too dissolved. For every spot she poked or grabbed or tweaked, he responded by rendering it back unto her and soon they were both too tired to do anything more than half-heartedly swat the other's hand away.

It was then that Wheatley took a moment to study the effect of his new power to draw forth her laughter. It was far more preferable, if the pleasant hum now running through his body was any indication, and with the added pleasure of, well, pleasure. And infection. She now sat propped slightly upright against her pillows with a smile still on her lips, one he found it easy to mirror. Catching her eye, he cautiously placed a hand on her stomach and slowly moved to kiss the sliver of exposed skin where her shirt had ridden up and her pajama pants down. With equal care, he pressed his cheek to this same spot and drew her closer, not wanting to let go of this moment of equality just yet. She placed her hand on his head, and absently smoothed his hair. He could feel her relaxing under his touch until she stilled completely, asleep again. Content, he adjusted his grip and reveled in the feel of skin and artificially chilled air.


End file.
